Knock Her Down
by LazyWriterGirl
Summary: So Santana got dumped by Brittany S. Pierce and it sucks but so far she's managing. Then some new blonde shows up at McKinley and it's like, why is she here and why does she dress like an attractive librarian/grandma/prude? Either way, Santana is not pleased by this new girl and her passive aggressive attitude towards the resident HBIC. Rated M for the excessive usage of swears.
1. It's the Way She Said Hello

**It's BIGGER (at least on the outline), it's BADDER (I should HOPE not), it's KNOCK HER DOWN (for the second time)! So...I don't know if any of you who read this when it originally went up (was taken down by me due to my cousin being a b-word and trying to expose my secret writer life to the family) will be back (I'm looking at you BreyanaXO and YayyyRainbows ;D) but I hope so, because I love and miss all of you.**

**I should let you know ahead of time that this story is rated M due to the constant foul language that will be running amok throughout this story. Also note that this is probably going to be the 'worst offender' in terms of how many swear words I can fit into a chapter; as the story matures so will Santana's (and everybody else's) usage of crude terminology. That being said, here we go, taking Knock Her Down for her second dance. Let's see if I can stick to her while also writing TSOAA! Enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, etc. are property of R.I.B. and co. and should be respected as such; I am just a humble peasant spending some borrowed time on the throne., and will return to my own simple abode as soon as I have finished playing.**

* * *

Santana Lopez is the baddest bitch up in this damn joint and nobody had better forget that. Seriously, she's a whole fucking can of whoop-ass and awesome rolled into one perfect, super-hot cheerleader HBIC. So why in the name of all that is Breadstix is this new girl not bowing at her feet and asking what she can do to serve her queen. All she can see is blonde hair and nice legs (fucking locker door blocking her view of a possibly atrocious fucking face) and that makes her angry because Brittany's also got blonde hair and nice legs and they've broken up again. She's bothered by it mostly because she actually likes hanging out with Britt, not because not dating means no sex for Aunty Snixx. Kitty and one of the other bottom-of-the-pyramid Cheerios have been trailing behind her for weeks now, ever since school started. They're not as good as Britt, but they make up for their inexperience with eagerness, so she's good. Was good. Would've continued being good, except now there's some new blonde standing in one of McKinley's many over-crowded hallways and Santana wants to know who she is. She asks politely.

"Who the fuck are you?" Yeah. That was polite enough. Bitch is lucky she didn't get a slushy facial, since even Santana wouldn't do that to anybody before first period. Except for Jew-Fro, but that's only because he's exceptionally gross. Oh whoops, new girl talking now, pay attention Lopez.

"Quinn Fabray," the girl says as she retrieves a pencil case out of her locker. A copy of Bernard Schlink's novel _The Reader_ falls out before the girl can close her metal storage space. Nobody quite notices. "And who might you be?" Santana would have _cut_ the bitch for using that snarky tone with her, but when said bitch finally turns her blonde head to the Latina, she's stunned. This girl is seriously gorgeous. Not as hot as Britt, though she's not bad _at all_ in the body department. And that face is pretty damn close to perfect. Eyes, nose, lips, cheekbones, jaw, and has she mentioned the eyes? Seriously. Quinn Fabray's eyes are like love and sex and magic, and it's fantastically embarrassing how she's been staring for the past two minutes like her brain and mouth have closed off all routes of communication.

"Santana Lopez," she snaps, eager to erase the new girl's possibly just-formed idea of her being a rude, staring, semi-mute dumb-fuck. "That's Head Cheerio _and_ head bitch to you, new girl. I rule in this pathetic excuse for an educational institution." Santana prides herself on using those words and knowing what they actually mean. She may have a constant urge to summon up her inner Snixx and go all Lima Heights, but she's not a _moron._ She's pretty fucking intelligent, and it doesn't hurt to hint at that every once in a while. Dropping words like "educational institution" and clearly knowing what they mean is a way to go about that. She does it fairly often to keep the meatheads that flock to her in their proper places. Especially guys like Finn and Puckerman.

"I see. Well if Santana Lopez, Head Cheerio _and_ head bitch would tell her lackeys to move aside, perhaps this new girl could find her way to her first class at this pathetic excuse for an educational institution."

Oh _hell _no. Bitch did not just sass at _the_ Santana Lopez. And not only did she just sass, oh no, she even had the _audacity_ to put on a bitchface.

"Excuse me?" Santana is not about to let that shit slide.

"Oh, thanks, I was forgetting my manners for a second there. Excuse me," says Quinn Fucking Bitchface – that will be the new girl's new name from now on, Bitchface – Fabray as she not-so-subtly pushes Kitty aside with one nicely manicured hand. Santana stares after the girl's blonde, bitchy wake. She's new, yeah, but already heads are turning. Santana can feel her ears burning, thankful that her naturally tan pigmentation blocks out most less-than-supernova-bright blushing. Who the _fuck_?

"Who the hell does she think she is?" Kitty's voice, normally only mildly irritating, is somehow even more grating to the Latina's ears as she loses sight of Bitchface to the milling about of numerous sweaty teenaged bodies.

"Whatever." The Cheerio whose name she can't remember at the moment (you'd think she would, right?) scoffs. "C'mon Santana, shouldn't we go? We have Spanish." It's Santana's turn to scoff because a) she can already speak Spanish much better than Schue and b) she'll go to class when she's good and ready. The bell rings as she finally spots Bitchface Fabrays's fallen book lying on the ground. She picks it up without hesitation and motions for the girls to head to Spanish. With Tweedle-Butt and Tweedle-Boobs out of her hair she can inspect this interesting little trophy sans interruption. Not that it's particularly inspection-worthy. All the same, it belongs to the bitchy new girl and maybe there's something written in the margins that'll help her figure shit out. Like, why the fuck is the new girl not afraid of her? Or, why the fuck is the new girl ridiculously hot when she's being unafraid of Santana? Wait… oh hold up that is not what just went down in her thought process right now. She's stunned enough with herself that she makes the decision to actually pay attention in Spanish (when she eventually gets there).

The book sits snugly between her own copy of _The Reader _and her binder for AP English, and she doesn't remember that it's there until it comes out of her bag along with her copy of it and her binder. Without a thought she opens it to find Q. Fabray written in a tight little scrawl on the inside of the cover. Flipping through it quickly she sees notes in the margins, but they're nothing interesting or incriminating in any way. Just notes on symbols here and there, themes and blabbity blah blah. She doesn't know what to do with it now so it's just sitting there on her desk, and she sighs. Maybe she'll have Kitty or whatshername put it back where she picked it up from after last period. That would shut them up about how they "can't believe" she's in the advanced course.

She really doesn't think AP English is that big of a deal. If she's being honest, it's one of her favourite classes. Not because she's thrilled by the symbolism of books in _The Reader, _or the meaning of Hamlet's most famous soliloquy, but because she's the only Cheerio in the class. While that means that she doesn't have other girls to order around for the most part, it _does _mean that she can show off her smarts without secretly wondering what her fellow cheerleaders think about a smart Head Cheerio. She's pretty sure that Sue's _never_ had one of those. It makes her feel even more awesome than she already is, which is always a plus. That and the teacher, Holly Holiday, is probably the chillest educator that McKinley's ever had. And she's not bad to look at either.

"Guys, looks like we have a new friend! Isn't that exciting? And look just how pretty she is. This is Quinn Fabray," Oh fuck no. No no no. "Why don't you sit beside Sweet-Cheeks over there." Santana doesn't need to look up to know that Holly's pointing at her, or rather, the empty desk beside her. She'd been lucky so far in that after Stoner Brett dropped out of McKinley for the nth time, Holly hadn't made her sit with somebody else, though honestly what he'd even been doing in her class was still a mystery. Santana liked the extra space. Sure no seat partner meant having to actually make an effort on some projects (the class was oddly numbered before Bitchface's arrival) but for the most part everything was sunshine and rainbows. She could sext Brittany in class without worrying about some perverted boy trying to see the screen, or make notes on whatever Holly was saying without getting poked by some other chick's ashy ass elbows. And now Bitchface was going to come in and ruin that for her? Fuck, her first day hadn't ended yet and Santana already had two strikes on her. When Santana does look up again she's met with hazel-green eyes and no Holly. _Probably changing into today's costume_.

"Hello again, Head Cheerio." Bitchface has a little smirk on her face with which Santana isn't quite happy. The Latina can feel eyes on her, everybody watching to see what their queen will do with this direct greeting from a newcomer. What Santana does next will brand Bitchface as either a commoner or a member of the aristocracy.

"I'm sorry, and your name is?" The blonde isn't even fazed by the snub, though people around her snigger. She doesn't say a word aside from restating her name, though the pointed look she gives her book – it's perched on the edge of Santana's desk, open, and has Q. Fabray written into the inside of the cover – means she's expecting it back. Santana waits for her to make a move for it, ready to make a scene, so she's surprised when all that Bitchface does is open her binder and write her name and the date across the top of the page. The cursive is nice, she supposes, but who the hell writes in cursive anymore, and just like that Santana decides that Bitchface Fabray is a preppy little nerd, hotness aside. She fucking hates preps. Well, except for Lady-Lips, but that's because he's not so much preppy as gay-man-chic and she won't admit it to anybody but they're pretty good friends. As if his Unicorn Man senses are tingling, Kurt turns around and taps her on the hand with his pen.

"San, could I borrow your copy of _The Reader_? Rachel took mine with her yesterday and she's out with a cold so I didn't get it back." Bitchface watches with some poorly concealed curiosity as Santana's hand hovers near the copy of the novel that most definitely is not hers. Surprising even herself Santana first passes the open book to her seatmate before passing her own copy to Kurt. "Thanks." _Great Lopez, now what are you going to use as reference?_ She could always move up a seat and share with Kurt, but that would look weird. She could also ask Sugar Motta from across the row if she could read along, but that would be awkward as fuck because good lord she hates Sugar Motta. Holly starts into the lesson wearing some bizarre looking outfit that Santana supposes is appropriate for a little German school boy back in the day, effectively sentencing the HBIC to just go along with everything from her somewhat hazy memory of the book's earlier chapters. Fuck reading ahead, she's not doing keener shit like that anymore.

"Would you like to share?" There's an oddly patronizing element to the tone of Bitchface's voice that Santana just can't seem to ignore, but she nods anyway. _May as well._ At least this girl doesn't smell like locker rooms or cheap perfume or Brett. They don't speak much for the rest of the period, just taking down notable quotations from the book and flipping pages. Santana sneaks glances at the nerdy hot bitchfaced girl. She's really, really pretty, distractingly so. Too bad she's such a bitch. Santana ends up staring blankly at her at one point, seriously wondering why the new girl isn't afraid of her like everybody else at this lame-ass school.

"Excuse me, Head Cheerio _and_ head bitch of McKinley, but I believe Schlink's words are easier to understand if you read the book instead of trying to read them out of my mind." That damn fucking husky patronizing _fucking_ voice. People even heard that one, and now Santana has to deal with stupid fucking idiots gasping in their direction. _The _Santana Lopez being talked down to by some goddamn new kid from Whogivesafuck, Nobodycares? Santana wants to snap at this girl. Nobody talks to Santana Diabla Lopez with that fucking _tone._ Nobody. She manages to keep her cool and try to get her notes back on track, but she's positively fuming. Bitchface is getting a free facial tomorrow. End of fucking story.

* * *

"Tomorrow after first period." Santana doesn't even bother asking Puck to do it; she knows that as soon as she gives the order he'll jump at the chance to perform. It helps that she's been brushing her hand over his crotch every five minutes or so throughout this godawful robot movie. God, she hates how easy it is to get boys to do what she wants.

"New girl, right?" He looks puzzled for a minute. "What'd she do to you?" Santana doesn't really know because aside from the bitchiness, Bitchface had been sort of _nice_. After class she'd offered to lend Santana all of the notes she'd missed. In fact, she'd seemed so genuinely concerned about Santana not getting all the notes that Santana had almost felt bad that she insisted on calling the girl Bitchface (even if only in her thoughts). Almost. Too bad for Bitchface though; Santana's pride and command over everybody at the school is being threatened by this troublemaker. This has to be done.

"Just do it, Puckerman."

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**You don't know how excited I am to have this up in the open again. Hope you liked it, at least this time I know what this is :D**

**Wanna be my friend/get updates on updates/maybe even some insight to stories? Follow me on twitter (handle can be found on my profile). I'm team follow back too ;)**

**Now, keep in mind that I'm working on another fic, so instead of doing what I did last time this happened and trying (and failing) to update both at once, I'll be working on a supply & demand type schedule in that whoever wants it more gets it more quickly (by that I mean KHD or TSOAA)**

**Also, for those of you who are misinformed, I will be calling you all Lazers in order to appropriate some of your undying eternal affection to myself. Kidding. I just like the idea that y'all are some united group of readers. I think.**

**Okay, enough of my rants, I'll leave you to your devices now...speaking of which, I have a device, and it has an inbox within it. My inbox is lonely. It likes friends. Be a friend? Kidding!**

**~ Kay ~**


	2. So Here's How It's Gonna Go Down

**Wow guys! Thanks for the support and interest, to everybody who has reviewed, followed, favourited, or just plain read chapter one! This is up a little earlier than it would've been usually, because you asked so nicely :) Hope you like it!**

**Aunt Snixx vs. Bitchface ROUND 2 GO.**

**Disclaimer: We all know who owns Glee and it ISN'T ME D: Damn it.**

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The slushy is green, to match Bitchface's eyes. Santana applauds herself on that little detail, sure that the symbolism of it all will fly over everybody's heads (or in Frankenteen's case, _under _both of them) as per usual_._ God, sometimes she can't believe how unintelligent her followers continually prove themselves to be. Bitchface is smarter than the lot of them combined; too bad she had to go and be so fucking rude on her first day. Well she'll get it now. When Puck is the one crowning McKinley's resident losers with slushies, he makes sure that they can feel it in their underwear. She doesn't quite know how he does that when all he does is make a tossing motion with the cup, but it's the kind of thing she keeps him around for.

"Is it that one? Damn she's hot." Yeah, his slushy prowess really is the only reason she keeps him around; the boy would literally have sex with a shark if it had nice enough tits. Santana takes a moment to leer at the blonde's lithe form, quickly of course. At least this one's _actually_ pretty hot, unlike some of the odd little hybrids that Puck's brought into his bed (or behind the school) to rub bellies with. The blonde has a concentrated expression on her face as she talks to somebody on a cellphone that shares more in common with a chalkboard eraser than any phone Santana and her posse possibly owns. Santana grins. Look, she's doing Bitchface a favour. Now she'll have to get a better phone. Something from the last decade at the very least.

"Time to do your job, Puckerman." Santana stands back from the splatter-radius of the slushy, pulling Kitty and Whatshername to her sides as she does so. Bitchface walks right into Puck, clearly lost in her conversation with whoever's on the other end of the line.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says as she attempts to walk past. Before she can really move Puck has dumped the green-dyed ice all over her Barbie hair, resulting in a raucous roar of laughter from all the jocks and Cheerios who've gathered for the event. Santana steps forward, basking in the adoration of the rest of the popular kids as she crosses her arms over her chest and smirks.

"Welcome to McKinley," she says with a laugh on her lips. That dies pretty fucking fast when she sees how not only is Bitchface smirking back at her, but she doesn't have tears in her eyes. All that Santana can find in those green orbs (maybe the green dye of the slushy really did emphasize their colour) is defiance and even a trace of amusement, along with some small sliver of some (probably) unimportant thing hidden there. There's a tremor to the other girl's shoulders and Santana is sure that this is the beginning of the waterworks; it's more like the beginning of Bitchface's own little laugh-party. Seriously though, how the fuck is this funny for her in any way? She must be pretty fucked up to find getting a slushy dumped all over her a veritable source of entertainment.

"Thanks for the welcome," Bitchface says in a voice that is sitting on the fence between pissing Santana off and turning her on. _Wait, what?_ "How sweet of you. But this isn't really my colour."

"I don't know Barbie, it looks pretty good on you," Santana says, leering at the blonde's sundress-and-cardigan clad form openly, showing a bit more enthusiasm than intended. The colour does look _ridiculous_ splattered all over the pale blue of the dress and the off-white of the cardigan, but thanks to the stickiness of it the material is flattened out against Bitchface's form. Santana feels an odd respect for the girl when she notices the quite-possibly-toned stomach underneath the wet fabric. She's as surprised as the rest of them when the blonde returns the gaze with just as much interest, her eyes unabashedly raking over Santana's body appreciatively.

"Maybe it would look better on you," Bitchface says. Nobody seems to catch what she means save for Santana a few seconds later, but it's already too late as Bitchface has her (surprisingly) strong arms wrapped around Santana's waist. She can feel the cold stickiness of the slushy hit her skin and soak through her Cheerios uniform and _fuck_ she's fucking dead to Coach Sylvester now. Still, Bitchface's hold on her actually feels nice – the stickiness doesn't much bother her either; she's been stickier – and Santana can feel her body relax before she forces herself to back away.

"You have no clue what you've just done, Barbie," Santana growls. Quinn shrugs. She appears to be uncaring of the fact that Santana's posse have dispersed and are currently torn between appeasing Santana with the sacrifice of another loser or dragging their Head Bitch away before she kills the new girl.

"Oh but I do. You had him," here she points to Puck who's still holding the now-empty slushy cup, "dump a slushie on me, which is apparently par for the course in terms of _bullying_ at this school. I gave you a hug for your oh-so-thoughtful welcome. Now it looks like you were slushied too. It's simple." Bitchface's bitchface is still smirking and Santana wants to punch the bitch out. But she can't. Or won't. She's not quite sure which it is but either way she has to do something or she's going to look weak. Stepping up to the blonde, Santana takes a deep breath.

"Listen up fresh meat. You have no idea how bad I can make things for you here. If I were in your place, I'd quit while I was ahead, because you sure as fucking hell won't be smirking when I get serious." The expression Bitchface puts on would be fantastically appropriate for somebody who was just threatened by the McKinley terror known as Santana Diabla Lopez… if it were real. Santana can see right through the mask but upon realizing that her underlings can't tell the difference between a terrified new girl and a good actress, she decides that enough is enough. It wouldn't do to let the new girl believe she's _all_ bad. Santana casts one more withering glance at Bitchface for good measure before snapping her fingers and walking away, leaving the green-covered girl to shiver off the worst of the ice chunks as Letterman jackets and Cheerios uniforms file past her. She looks a little lost, like maybe she doesn't know which of the hallways will lead her to a washroom where she can clean herself up properly.

A blue-eyed brunette appears in Santana's line of vision and Marley Rose is shaking her head disapprovingly. Santana shrugs – she loves Marley, kid's a gem, but really the girl should know how she operates by now – and her eyes practically glaze over when Marley's compassionate self walks in the direction of the shivering new girl. Santana turns back to look at Bitchface (she doesn't know why she'd do that, but she does) but the girl is already walking away, Marley's kindly hand resting on her elbow in guidance. The green slush on the floor reminds Santana of how fucking gross she feels. "Kitty." The blonde promptly appears at the Latina's side, looking more like a Puppy than anything else. "I need the spare uniform I keep in my locker. Get it for me." As Kitty scampers away Santana turns again to stare at the stupid green spot on the floor.

* * *

During her second period class Santana feels pretty great. She sure showed that new girl. Puck did a good job with his slushy assault. Her rule of McKinley is unthreatened and even more well-established than before. The class after that she still feels pretty damn good, but as the rest of the day drones on the Head Cheerio begins to feel uneasy. She is the undisputed queen of McKinley, yes, of that there is no question, but what she is not is a huge bitch. Okay, scratch that, yes she is. But only to a select few who piss her off on a catastrophic scale.

Jew-Fro in particular is a sleaze who spends a suspicious amount of time hiding under the gym bleachers with his camera lens or cellphone sticking out, directed at the cheerleaders as they go through their routines. Santana has no qualms with ordering a slushy facial for the awkward boy at every opportunity. Bitchface has only been a McKinley High student for a day before Santana decided it was okay to slushy her, and that is confusing in and of itself. Why does she get so riled up by that loser?

* * *

When she gets to English class Bitchface is already sitting at her desk, notebook open with her name and date scrawled across the top of a fresh page. They don't speak until there's about fifteen minutes left to the day, mostly because Holly's sick and they have to actually copy shit down from a never-ending series of overhead pages. That, and Santana is utterly determined not to speak to the girl she had directed a slushie assault on earlier today. She'd not thought this through, the whole 'sitting beside Bitchface in English' part of her daily schedule. In all honesty she'd thought that the blonde would go home after her humiliation. Very public humiliation, Santana corrects herself, as she is sure she saw Jew-Fro snapping pictures of the scene.

"I see you got yourself cleaned up too." Bitchface's smoky voice doesn't sound as hostile as Santana had been expecting. In fact, it sounds almost companionate and because of that Santana immediately suspects the new girl of something. This is not normal post-slushie facial behaviour. Usually the recipients of said treatments are timid and shy around her, almost completely hopeless and scared. Bitchface here doesn't seem the least bit perturbed by it. She's even put on a short-sleeved button down that covers the green stain on her dress and it all looks so coordinated that nobody would be able to discern what had happened that morning simply by looking at her. The button-down is one of Marley's, Santana notes, and she reminds herself to talk to the girl at some point. Not soon – Santana loves the junior, honestly she does, just not the whole "I love everybody" aspect of her – but at some point after the other brunette's anger subsides a little, Santana will have to remind her not to help out the enemies of the HBIC.

"What's wrong, Head Cheerio?" That's it. _She better watch that damn tone._

"Hey Barbie, I have a name, you know." At this outburst Bitchface laughs, like really laughs, albeit quietly enough to avoid garnering attention. Santana watches the curve of the other girl's neck as the sounds of her mirth dance in the air. She's caught up in whether she should be frowning and cursing the bitch out or laughing along with that _insanely_ cute giggle that Qui-Bitchface is producing and _wait what the fuck_? Santana! Stop, she's the hateful new girl and you hate her. Well, not hate, hate is a strong word. You don't like her. It takes Santana a while to notice that the blonde beside her has stopped laughing.

"I know. I just thought that you preferred to go by your titles." Bitchface shrugs nonchalantly. "If I was wrong in my assumptions then I'm sorry, Santana. Is that better?" Santana nods and allows her gaze to meet Quinn's for a moment. Whoa now, don't do anything crazy. Don't 180, don't 180.

"It's cool. I'll stop calling you Barbie, Bitc-Quinn." Santana says, shocking herself. This doesn't change the fact that the new girl's name is Bitchface in her mind. No, it most definitely does not. Qui-Bitchface blinks. She breathes deeply. "And I'm sorry about this morning."

"It's okay. You don't have to force yourself to be nice to me. It's clearly not your style, if what happened earlier is any indication." Bitchface's eyes turn to the clock, and it seems like she's looking through Santana as she does this. There's that sliver of something (probably) unimportant in her eyes again, and Santana wonders what it is. Qui-Bitchface turns away before she can detect it. "Three minutes," Bitchface whispers. "We might as well start packing up." Santana doesn't need to take cues from this new girl. She's Santana Lopez. She'll pack up when she's good and fucking ready.

Awh fuck, might as well. There's no Cheerios practice today – Sue seemed to be preparing for something personal during yesterday's three-hour practice – and Santana wants nothing more than to flop over on her bed and not wake up until she's done with high school. Done with any and all school in her future, she thinks. _Drrriiiiiiiing drrriiiiiiiiing. _The bell is so obnoxiously loud that Santana feels like a fucking siren just went off beside her ear and she staggers upwards. There's a soft thud as she bumps into Bitchface and this is followed by a cliché-feeling moment where they're just looking each other in the eyes.

"Sorry, Quinn," she says automatically. Sugar gawps at Santana like she's just been told that her father has run out of money. What? Her parents _did_ raise her with manners. Qui-Bitchface just shakes her head and says it was her fault. "No, it was my fault." Normally Santana would never insist that she'd done something wrong, but today hasn't been normal.

"Look, I told you already, you needn't be nice to me. It's okay. I'm an easy target for bullies, being new and everything. You don't need to pretend." Bitchface walks away wearing the least bitchy-face Santana's ever seen her wear and it's startling to the point that the Latina doesn't even snap at the Motta girl for staring at her. _The hell is her problem?_

* * *

**_So that's that then. _I know how important it is to edit, and trust me I try to do so, but sometimes reading my own work is...painful? Like, that's why I always get scared updating stories :( **

**BUT ENOUGH OF THAT. Anyway, Lazers you are beautiful, each and every one of ya, and if any of yous want to follow meh on twitter you can hit me up at cruzythekat (the link is in m yprofile in case you want to just go from there instead of searching for me). Tweet me with #KHD or something that will tip me off to you being a reader and then I'll follow you back and we'll be friends and yay!**

**And with a POOF, I'm vanished into thin air (to work on this and the other fic I'm writing...writer lyfe, it's never-ending)**

**~ Kay ~**


	3. Friendly Tana and the Stinging Cheek

**So...I GOT DUMPED TWO DAYS AGO! Yay! :'( But that's neither here nor there...enjoy this chapter Lazers, you're the only ones who love anything about me. Your reviews, favourites, follows, and views cheer my battered spirits.**

**Disclaimer: Ryan & Co. created the world of Glee; I just mess around with it for the entertainment of myself and others.**

* * *

Since the slushie incident of two weeks past, Santana has had to stomp out numerous _unauthorized_ slushie attempts on the new girl by various members of the football team and mini-packs of blood-hungry Cheerios. Of course, it isn't like her to do such a thing, and people have started to talk. That idiot Finn Hudson had even gone so far as to ask if Quinn was her latest toy. Suffice it to say their conversation had been less than thrilling, and had gone a little something like:

"So uh Santana, like, are you and the new girl hooking up?"

"…Why the fuck are you asking me this, Finnocence?"

"...Oh my God are you? That's super-hot."

"…"

"So uh, is that a no? Can I ask her out then? I mean, she's really pretty."

"Get out of my face, Hudson. Now."

Santana doesn't even know if Quinn… hold on. Quinn. Quinn. Santana rolls the name around in her head for a little while, unsure as to why she feels odd thinking it and oh wow what? Since when did she ditch calling Quinn 'Bitchface'?! This is abnormal. Not right at all. Not right.

"Excuse me, Santana, could I possibly get to my seat before class starts?"

"Oh sure," Santana says as she shifts impossibly close to her desk. Given the layout of the classroom it doesn't allow Quinn to slide past the Latina without pressing her front to Santana's back. Santana can feel the firm expanse of Quinn's evidently taut stomach against her shoulder as the blonde inches towards her own desk. Without knowing quite why, Santana pushes back with her heels, winding Quinn a tad when her shoulder smacks into the side of the blonde's ribcage. "S-sorry about that!" The Latina wants to slap herself. Since when has Santana Lopez ever apologized for moving around in her chair? Since when has Santana Lopez ever apologized for doing some unintentional damage to anybody who wasn't family or Brittany? And _why_ the fuck did she fucking stutter? She prays that Quinn didn't notice the temporary speech impediment. No such luck, the blonde is shooting her a sideways smirk as she scribbles her name and the date across the top of a fresh page.

"I was unaware that Head Cheerio Santana Lopez possessed the ability to stutter." The blonde's voice is amused but soft. Santana can't bring herself to use her Head Cheerio bitch-bark on the girl who _isn't even looking at her_ as she speaks. "Although I suppose even head bitches can't escape the minor plagues of humanity."

"I thought we were done with titles, Quinn," she says instead of shooting off a bitchier answer, hoping it comes off as a joke.

"Right, sorry. It's just tricky to remember that at times." She didn't find that funny, but at least she's not looking at you weirdly, Santana_._ "It's impolite to stare, Santana," Quinn says harshly, but the edge to her voice is faked. Teasing, even, like maybe they're friends? Santana shakes her head free of that thought because sure, she stopped mentally tagging Quinn as Bitchface at every turn and she actually thinks that the reclusive blonde is smart and kinda cool, but that doesn't mean they're _friends._ Santana doesn't have friends except for Marley, Kurt (and by extension Warbler, since he and Kurt are super lurvy durvy), Brittany, 'Cedes and sometimes Berry when she isn't singing obnoxiously in everybody's face (yeah, obviously most of the time they're not friends). Regardless, Santana doesn't need any more friends, and she definitely doesn't need a friend like Quinn who dresses like a schoolteacher and talks like she's better than everybody else. And stares down at you with those eyes. She turns away from the blonde girl at the thought of hazel-green boring into chocolate like always.

"Oh God, not again." Santana groans. She's spotted their substitute teacher, a portly man with a too-tight tie and man-boobs that put Finn's to shame. This is insane; Miss Holiday is probably not even _sick_ anymore.

"How much do you want to bet that he leers at your chest when he calls you for attendance?" Santana is surprised that Quinn is joking around while the sub starts on the list. Usually she's quieter than her church-mouse dresses and so this is definitely something new.

"Oh don't even joke, Fabray," she shoots back with humour on her tongue. "He'll probably be too distracted with fantasies about gazing into your pretty eyes." _The fuck? _Quinn sighs and looks away from Santana. The Latina is puzzled by the turnabout. _Why did that just happen?_ Whatever happened to cause a freeze-out from Quinn, Santana is unable to regain the blonde's attention throughout the rest of the period. Her first failure happens when Mister Man-Tits calls "Fabray, Quinn," before his eyes drift towards Santana's impressive bust. Gross, yes, but Santana is hoping that the blonde will turn to her and make a joke about it. She doesn't. Santana is so distracted by Quinn's silence that she misses out on copying the first half of Professor Fatso's overhead. When she asks her blonde seatmate if she could copy off of her Quinn says nothing, only pushes the notebook she's writing in closer to the Latina. She writes away steadily, ignoring the brunette's smile of thanks. Well fuck. Santana is trying to be nice here, bitch; you could at least pay her some fucking attention. Maybe Quinn's psychic or shit, or maybe Santana has just been staring at her for too long because she raises her eyes to Santana's and stares back. It's like she's flicked a switch in the head of McKinley's head bitch.

_Look, I told you already, you needn't be nice to me… You don't need to pretend._

Does Quinn really think she's pretending to be nice to her still? Shit, this girl doesn't even know what kind of bull-fuckery Santana's put up with just to keep her angel-hair it's naturally golden colour. Not that Santana will ever tell her about any of that; her reputation comes first, after all.

* * *

It takes an exasperating three days for Quinn to start speaking to Santana again, and the Latina is fairly sure that she's only doing it because they've (naturally) been paired for a project on Hamlet. "My house or yours?"

"Wow, first time speaking in half a week and you proposition me so boldly," Santana jokes, secretly glad that the blonde is no longer shutting her out (because only Santana can do that to people and not the other way around, not because she cares if she speaks to Quinn Fabray, duh). She hates to admit it – she practically killed Kitty when the mini-bitch found out – but she's kind of starting to like her laconic blonde seatmate. Quinn seems less than amused and shakes her head, quirking an eyebrow at Santana in a way that makes her feel almost uncomfortable. "Uh… what I meant is, would it be okay if we went to yours today? My parents won't be in 'til later and my abuela is watching my baby brother in the meantime. She won't really care if I'm at a friend's." It hurts her that the last statement is true. Santana's abuela still isn't speaking to her. She hopes that Quinn doesn't notice the drop in her mood.

The blonde simply nods, not commenting on the sad line of Santana's frown. The obvious amusement at being referred to as a friend is etched faintly into her lips. "Okay, we'll go to mine. My aunt and uncle shouldn't have a problem with me having a classmate over." Already stinging from the remembrance of her abuela's harsh rejection, Santana feels a pang at the green-eyed girl's words. She's 'a classmate', huh? _Woman the fuck up Lopez! You don't need a friend like Fabray. _"They'll be delighted to meet one of the only friends I've managed to make since moving here, I'm sure…" Santana can feel her mood shift again as Quinn seemingly amends her earlier snub. Not because she's glad that the blonde actually does think she's a friend, but because she's the only one that's allowed to decide that she doesn't want to be friends. The other way around doesn't work.

"So… what time should I be over?" She doesn't know why she's practically _excited_ but pegs it on the Red Bull she drank before class. Quinn shrugs as the Potbellied Professor (yeah, still no Miss Holiday) drones on and on about the symbolism of decay in Hamlet, and yadda yadda yadda because Santana already knows this shit. Santana watches as Quinn scribbles something down on a piece of paper.

"This is my aunt's house." Santana takes the paper as it's slid towards her and gawps at it like a fish. No fucking way. _No fucking way._ "Something wrong?" This address is just too familiar.

"Do you seriously live here?" Quinn seems offended by the comment.

"I know that I may not have the newest cell phone or the hottest clothes on my back but _Christ_ Santana, is it that surprising that my family lives on a nice street?" Santana wants to hit herself. She didn't mean what the blonde seemed to think she had.

"No, Quinn… ugh, shit. I'm sorry. It's just that this is my ex-girlfriend's house...which means…oh my God." She really wants to hit herself now. Sure, she's out, but since when has _Santana Lopez _spoken about her love life with a (practical) stranger? Luckily Quinn doesn't seem to be a self-righteous bigot or anything, so the Latina relaxes if only a little bit. When she opens her eyes she sees Quinn's peering at her curiously.

"You're the girl who used to be my cousin's girlfriend?" The bell starts ringing and there are bodies whirling around in a dash for the door but all that Santana can hear is her blood pumping in her ears and why is she so nervous over a simple question?

"Yeah… so you're Britt's cousin, huh? No wonder. For what it's worth I thought you were hot first time we met; should've seen the resemblance. How's Britt doing anyway?" Santana nods even though she was the one to ask the question. It makes sense. They're both hot blondes, which is a fair enough (though extremely superficial) way of reasoning. Santana is so involved in her thoughts that she barely has time to react to what happens next.

The crisp sound of a slap direct to the face echoes throughout the almost-empty classroom. _What the HOLY MOTHERFUCK? _That fucking hurt. That really fucking hurt. Santana holds her burning cheek in hand as Quinn stomps off, bag open and overflowing with pens and loose blank papers. When the pain subsides the Latina turns towards the door, disbelief clouding her face. "Why the fuck did that fucking bitch slap me?!"

Sugar smacks her gum in Santana's face. "Maybe she's angry?"

_Thanks Motta. Thank you so fucking much. _"I like you better when you don't talk."

* * *

Regardless of the slap, Santana doesn't allow herself to cancel her plans for the English project with Quinn. She places herself in front of Brittany's locker after Cheerios practice when it becomes apparent that she probably missed Quinn; she's pretty sure that the blonde has a car, since the Pierces are nothing if not the happiest, most indulgent parents ever. Santana grimaces at the thought of actually speaking with Brittany again. She loves the happy-if-slightly-spacey blonde, she really does. She just knows that at this point, they're better off with other people and it's difficult to move on when your first love is around all the time. Not that they'd interacted much recently.

"Oh, hi San!" Brittany practically chirps as she steps up to her locker. Even though this should be awkward it's impossible to actually feel awkward. Brittany's just too damn sweet to feel awkward around.

"Hey there Britt... uh, did Quinn go home?" Brittany cocks her head thoughtfully, the way Santana always said made her look 'like that Einstein guy only way hotter'.

"She went to the library San... oh! And she said to tell you not to bother showing up at our house later if you're angry…but why would you be angry at Quinnie, Sanny?" Brittany's pout makes Santana want to drag her into the nearest janitor's closet and- whoa, relax. Wait... why the hell is Fabray at the freaking library? _To work on your assignment, genius, duh. _Santana wants to be angry at the other blonde; she should have called Santana herself if she made a change to their plans. Then again, Britt just told her that Quinn had asked for her not to come by the Pierce household, so maybe Quinn just went to the library because she's one of those losers that just likes being there. It's then when the brunette realizes that she's not been given Quinn's number, nor has Quinn asked for hers. Well that's just great. Thinking about what Quinn didn't do reminds her of what the blonde _did _do. Her cheek still feels bruised, even if there are no marks to disfigure her beautiful face. Santana is grateful that Quinn doesn't wear rings.

"Oh... kay, cool. I'm not angry with her, don't worry…just a little problem, nothing serious. Thanks Britt!" Santana turns to leave. She can't resist the pull the taller girl has on her and so she turns back, practically throwing herself into Brittany's arms. "We're good, right?"

Brittany nods and lets Santana go. "Yeah... we're the most amazing secret unicorns ever. Actually…I'm maybe a bicorn, but you know what I mean. We're good." Santana is glad for that, and she smiles brightly because that's one less thing to worry about as she turns and walks out the ugly school doors. Now to find Quinn and sort out this whole slapping business. Santana still wants to know _why _her face feels like it's dying in a pit somewhere. She'll be at Quinn's house when she was supposed to, as per their original plan.

* * *

**This is close to where things stopped last time, one more chapter of old material and then I'm going to be writing from scratch, so updates between this and TSOAA will be roughly the same amount of time apart, I think? I dunno. Is anybody still reading that?**

**Follow me on twitter for insight into my life and writing processes! If you tweet me with a hashtag related to Bitchface vs HBIC or KHD or TSOAA or Lazers or whatever, you can ask any one question and I'll answer it via tweet/dm. Link to my twitter found on my profile. Lazers, I'm out.**

**~ Kay ~**


	4. Enter the Lair of the Genius Slapper

**And here's the last of the old material. From here on out updates may be a touch slower, as I'm working on another story simultaneously. Do not lose heart though, for I will try my best to write as much and as well as I can throughout the summer (even though I will be working an 8-4 job from July 1st to August 23rd). No matter, that is neither here nor there...will we find out why Quinn slapped Santana today? I don't know, read and find out!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee because I am not one of the owners of Glee and so cannot claim to own it. **

* * *

At seven thirty the Latina finds herself sitting in her car. She's parked in her ex's driveway, one hand softly caressing her own face as the ghost of pain lingers over her cheek. Santana really doesn't buy into that fucking masochism bullshit 'cuz anybody who'd be crazy enough to _want_ to be in pain is obviously an escapee from the nearest mental institution. Her cheek still burning ever-so-faintly with the memory of Quinn's hand, she slides out of her car and practically slams the door shut. The Pierce's have salted the whole driveway much to her surprise. That's never happened before. Her feet pound on the prettily decorated cobblestone walkway, the crunching of salt ruining the intimidation factor in her gait, and soon Santana finds herself standing outside Brittany's familiar doorstep. With one finger hovering dangerously close to the doorbell she stops. Quinn must not be expecting her to show up, she thinks, but too fucking bad. They have an assignment to do and slap or no, Santana is not about to let her grades slip. She wants to get out of this sleepy little cow town so fucking badly that it hurts almost as much as her cheek. Almost. She rubs at the sore skin gently, swallowing her stale saliva. It probably isn't even sore anymore, but her wounded pride supplements what little, practically-non-existent pain still exists. With a sigh the Latina presses the button down, staring at the wisp of smoke as her breath meets the frigid air. _Quinn, you better answer this door._

The thought of the hazel-green-eyed blonde brings a reluctant little smile to her face. At least now she can stop intervening on the bitchface's behalf without feeling too guilty for doing so. Lord, she pities the next bitch to piss off Quinn Fabray and her deceptively delicate open palm. As if on cue, the door abruptly swings open and Santana is face to face with the genius slapper herself. Said slapper is lined up almost flush with the door, as if bracing herself against a possible attack. _Funny, you're the one who slapped me._

"I want to apologize for slapping you earlier today…I was out of line, sorry." Santana freezes up for a few seconds because she isn't used to apologies and other sentimental crap like that, but the moment passes quickly and she simply nods.

"Sure, whatever. Look, can I come in now though? It's kind of cold and I have to be home by ten so we'd best get started." Santana can tell that Quinn is surprised by this, but the lithe blonde pushes herself flatter against the door to allow the Latina more room through which to pass. Once she's far enough inside that she can't feel the chill of the wind Santana stoops slightly to pull the wet sneakers from her feet and feels a slight pressure on her lower back as Quinn inadvertently walks into her. Figuring they're alright after Quinn's apology Santana turns her head, a sly smirk playing on her lips. "Easy there, tiger." The arch of the blonde's eyebrows is not amused but not unkind either. All the same Santana drops her little game before she gets herself kicked out and is left partnerless for this stupid project.

"Come on then Santana," she says, gesturing towards the basement stairwell. "As you probably know, you and I will be the only ones downstairs as my aunt and uncle are busy in their respective studies and Brittany is not going to be back from dance practice until late. Is that going to be problematic for your hormones?"

It takes the Latina a while to register that Quinn is teasing her, and while she doesn't really appreciate it (she's more a disher than a taker) it cajoles a small smile from her face. She'd never admit it, but she's happy that she and her bitchfaced new friend are on good terms again. Not that her curiosity as to _why_ she's sporting a faintly bruised cheek hasn't died down, but why kill the good vibes? She'll ask about it after they actually start getting some work done, when Quinn realizes that Santana is invaluable as a partner. Instead, she focuses on the way Quinn's dress swishes nicely around her thighs as they walk in silence down the familiar stairs. She barely focuses on anything else even as Quinn leads her down the short hallway into the basement proper. From the shape of Quinn's calves, Santana can tell that the blonde is deceptively strong, making the tanned girl wonder if maybe she should be shopping around for a new addition to the Cheerios. Anything less would be a waste because seriously this girl is… Wait, no, she's so not checking Quinn out. So not doing that right now.

Quinn stops walking abruptly and turns, as if she knows what's on the Latina's mind. "Santana? Santana I've asked you twice, do you want anything to eat? Something to drink?" She then points to a space a little ways off, where there's a large sofa and, presumably (there's like a curtain-thing in the way) a television set. "Also, if you wouldn't mind could you wait over there?"

"Huh? Yeah sure. Oh, and a Coke would be nice, please." Santana knows that she really shouldn't (not that it won't be funny watching Coach Sylvester's jugular pulse when she tells her about it), but Quinn is already heading to a fridge tucked into the corner. While the blonde busies herself with glasses, Santana takes in the view of her friend's (so she likes saying it in her head, leave her alone) living quarters. It seems like the kind of set-up that an adult would make with a total stranger, not exactly like the kind of agreement made between family members.

"Oh, feel free to watch something Santana. I trust you know how to work a remote." Santana ignores the slight jibe and continues her inspection of the place.

"You renting this out or something?" If she's being honest, this whole thing is a bit more on the bemusing side than she'd like, especially when Quinn makes a noncommittal grunting noise but doesn't follow up with words. She didn't even know the Pierce's basement was finished, let alone housing a somewhat-rude-and-frigid-but-also-somehow-hot-and-polite teenager. Admittedly though, she thinks as she's runs her hands along the friendly blue (like Britt's eyes) walls, this place is definitely _sweet_. The 3DTV screen off to the side is nice, a 55 incher by the looks of it, and the couch that's placed in front of it is definitely genuine leather.

Even the fucking coffee table looks like it cost at least $500, a handsome slab of dark cherry wood serving as the surface of it. Santana sinks into the couch and grins as soon as FOX is flicked on, X Factor USA flashing up on the screen. She's kind of a sucker for singing contest shows, especially when someone really good (or really bad) pops up. Santana nestles further into the couch as Simon delivers what obviously isn't his first barb of the night, surprised to find that it holds her up pleasantly but not stiffly so, as if it's been through some years of use. There don't appear to be any signs of this on the porous black material.

"It was my sister's originally," Quinn says as she sets the glasses down, gesturing at the couch. Santana notes that the blonde has made use of a pair coasters. Fucking fancy-ass glass coasters. "She gave it to me when I was—when I moved here. It used to be wrapped up in thick plastic, but I took it off since I'm not the one with a baby running around puking on everything."

Santana nods and sips politely from her glass, shivering as the bubbles of carbonated drink fizz up in her throat. "It's nice. This is nice," she gestures to the living space, or at least what she can make of it. She can't see much from here, as the curtain-screen kind of thing is blocking her view. "I never would have thought you lived like this."

"In a rich neighbourhood, you mean?" Quinn's eyes slant dangerously.

"Hey, you know I never meant it like that, okay?" Santana says, relaxing when the fierceness leaves her companion's expression. "I just mean… well this is _really _nice. I didn't think that people decorated this way out here in Butt-Fuck nowhere, Ohio."

"So you like it?" Quinn absentmindedly chases her straw around the rim of the glass with her mouth as she waits for Santana's response. Santana wonders if maybe Quinn is looking for her approval and decides that she may as well give it. They've been friends for what, a month now or something (a little less, who cares) and they haven't killed each other, so you know fuck it, it's about time she opened up more to the green-eyed girl. She'll just have to play it smooth.

"I love it. Well, what I've seen of it." _Which admittedly hasn't been all that much_. To her surprise Quinn is rising to her feet, half-full glass placed gently on its matching coaster. Santana cringes for a second as she places her own glass down, remembering how she'd been _told_ that any sort of niceness from her to Quinn was unnecessary and would not be accepted as genuine.

"Would you like a tour?" There she goes again sounding stiffly formal, but Santana nods anyway, even though she feels that the other girl is mocking her. At least she didn't yell at her. To her surprise Quinn gently reaches for her wrist, and guides her back towards the stairs. "May as well do this properly then."

Santana looks on with genuine curiosity as Quinn starts from the very top step, just shy of the door."Santana, welcome to the Latina that one of Quinn's parents may very well be a real-estate agent or something, or maybe that's just Quinn. At the very base of the stairs is a wall, upon which is mounted an extraordinarily haphazard looking piece of what Santana assumes one should call 'fine art'. "On the wall here you'll notice I've mounted a painting. I'm not sure if you're familiar with Jackson Pollock?"

"The paint-drip guy, yeah? Famous in the late 40s and early 50s, then he died in a drunk driving accident and later a bunch of 'his' paintings were found in some locker, along with a lot of other controversial pieces over the years that may or may not be his. That guy?" Quinn's nod of approval sends a quiver rushing through Santana. It must be the Coke. She really doesn't know much about fine art but thankfully she'd paid attention that one time on that trip to the museum with Kurt and the Merry Warbler of Tight-Pantsingham Forest.

"Yes. This isn't the original, obviously, but it's one of the best quality prints I could find of Convergence." To Santana the splashes of paint look exactly like that, splashes, but she holds her tongue and allows Quinn to talk about _feelings_ she has when she looks at the painting or something, until the blonde realizes she's been rambling and moves them along. "Through there is the laundry room, which I'm pretty sure you don't need to see. Oh, and the door beside it is the guest washroom which you're obviously welcome to use at any given time." Quinn shrugs and Santana can't help but mirror the action.

They turn back towards the living area where Santana, having stared for long enough at Quinn's shiny golden hair, turns her attention to figuring out the function of the curtain. Just as she notices how it's rigged up to some sort of rail on the ceiling, Quinn says, "I see you've noticed that. It's an improvised screen that my uncle and I came up with. You know, so that I can watch TV without glare from the kitchen light. It blocks out a lot of background noise too, which is great for when I'm working on something." Santana thinks it's pretty ingenious, and she mentions that to Quinn who smiles demurely and nods before giving her guest a brief lowdown of the kitchen and where to find things. She then points towards two rooms a little further down the way.

"Lemme guess. Bathroom and bedroom?" Quinn nods.

"Yes and no. My bathroom is an en suite so the door to it is in my bedroom, which is the one to the left. It's off-limits to guests, but that's really the only thing off-limits." Santana wants so badly to make a dirty joke but she knows that Quinn would probably kick her ass out onto the street if it were lewd enough. She stops herself before that can happen.

"So if that's the only room off-limits then does that mean I can go into the one on the right?" Santana watches the blonde for any sign of tension. They really should start working on their assignment but it's only been about twenty minutes since she got here so... screw it. Quinn nods but stays quiet, almost like she's prompting Santana to ask the question the Latina's been dying to ask since she noticed the door on the right. "What's in there?"

"Why don't you go and look?" Quinn says, "I'll be waiting on the couch, I think we should probably do our work soon. But take your time." Santana smiles kindly, ignoring the surprise that curves Quinn's mouth into a half-grin, half-grimace. She waits until the blonde is no longer looking in her direction before taking the few steps required to reach the polished brass of the doorknob. The door makes no noise as it swings open softly, and when Santana steps into the room she lets out a small gasp of delight. She'd never have pegged Quinn as the musical type but the room is really just a perfect little studio. Santana takes a step towards the gleaming baby grand standing proudly in the corner and stops herself. She's supposed to be working on an assignment with Quinn. Quinn who, though she's been extremely nice since her apology, was the one who slapped her so hard her cheek did its best impression of a splattered tomato. She doubts that Quinn would like it very much if her project partner just disappeared into her own little musical world during the hours they're supposed to be spending on work. Making a little note to herself to check the place out later she steps out of the studio, gently closing the door.

"Ready to get some work done, Fabray?" She seats herself beside the blonde, not bothering to wait for a reply. Soon enough the pair of them are digging through a sheaf of papers, muttering little comments here and there. Santana catches the blonde's eyes a few times and can feel warmth spread over her cheek. No, not just one, both of them. For whatever reason, she's blushing, and yet she can't help but be reminded of that stinging slap from earlier today. She still wonders why.

* * *

**Mkay now I may not be around for a while...but hopefully I will be. I don't think I'll be adhering to any particular schedule, though I will try to be prompt. Also, if anybody wants to make some kind of a cover image for this, it would be much appreciated :)**

**As always, thank you so much Lazers and Quinntana fans and everybody who reads, reviews, follows, and/or favourites KHD. Without you, I am nothing...er...well maybe we can just strike that to "Without you, I am greatly diminished."**

**...**

**I think I've embarrassed myself enough for one evening. Ciao for now!  
~ Kay ~**


	5. Nonsense and a Confession

**So, this (opposed to my other Quinntana) is going to be moving at a slightly more brisk pace, if only because it's a high school love story and those are best told quickly so as to avoid getting too into the drama of the individuals involved. Unless, of course, you think me mistaken?**

**Disclaimer: Just like a schoolyard bully, I'm taking Ryan Murphy's toys and playing with them without asking. Unlike every schoolyard bully, however, I won't be able to make money off of this. Because this is not being done for profit.**

* * *

They get a surprising amount of work done as soon as Santana brings herself to leave the music room. Quinn is extremely efficient in a way that would be nearly terrifying to the Latina if she weren't used to seeing her own Papi and Mami work so diligently. By the time her phone beeps to remind her that she should be heading home, Santana and Quinn have already sketched out a plan for the diagram they're going to be making and bringing in, divided up the materials that they'll need, and done some writing on the importance of deterioration and decay in _Hamlet_.

"That went almost astonishingly better than I'd have thought," Quinn comments.

"Hey, come on. I know I'm a cheerleader but cut me some slack Fabray; I'm a lot smarter than the rest of those idiots."

"A fact that surprises and pleases me, I can assure you," Quinn says. Santana catches herself before she can grin a little _too_ kindly at her blonde workmate. She rises from the couch and stands awkwardly, not sure if she should hug the blonde goodbye, leave, or wait to be seen out. In the end Quinn gets up from her seat as well and says, "Well I'll see you out then." They walk up the stairs making small talk, mostly about English class and when Miss Holiday will be returning from her mini-vacation (the blonde teacher called in her "sickness" in advance, so it's Professor Potbelly for all of the week). When they reach the top of the stairs Santana almost falls over, clutching the taller girl as she stumbles into somebody coming in from the other side of the door. Quinn ends up half-pushing her out the doorway so that she's on stable ground, and then Santana is faced with a very familiar blonde.

"Sanny what are you doing at my house?" Brittany's blue eyes flutter questioningly, in that way that Santana adores. Before the Latina can get a word out, Quinn is swooping past her and standing almost protectively by her taller cousin.

"Santana was just working on an English assignment with me. We're doing a presentation on Hamlet."

"Oh, San can tell you all about breakfast meats, and you're so smart Quinnie, so you'll get an A for sure." Santana tenses for a bit, ready to leap to Brittany's defence if Bitchface Quinn decides to make fun of her for saying something silly; being family doesn't always mean two people get along, after all. To her surprise it's Quinn who narrows her eyes in Santana's direction, almost daring her to say something. Brittany smiles brightly at her cousin, unaware of what's going on before her. _Well I guess she's a good person, if Britt likes her, _Santana thinks. She blinks a few times; if Bitchface is such a good person, then why did she fucking slap Santana's cheek so hard the force would have shattered a watermelon?

"Whatever you say Britt. Hey, wanna watch a movie? You can pick whatever you like."

"Really Quinnie? Can we watch the Little Mermaid again?" Brittany begins cheering down the stairs as Quinn nods. The green-eyed blonde turns to Santana and nods toward the door; it's so subtly rude that Santana could almost forgive her for it.

"Bye Quinn, goodnight," Santana says, disturbed by the chilly feel she's getting off the blonde. Quinn says nothing, only gives her another tight-lipped nod, and Santana feels like maybe she did something wrong but _what_? She wonders about it all the way home. Fucking Bitchface Quinn, of course she had to go and make shit awkward again.

* * *

"I'd appreciate it if you'd not come through the main entrance next time you come over to work on the assignment." Quinn appears beside Santana the next day at lunch, glowering down at her and ordering her around like she's the boss or something. The Latina bristles at the treatment because she's still the HBIC of McKinley, and nobody talks to her like that if they know what's good for them.

"Look Fabray, I'm not sure what I did to you to get you so pissed with me, but I'm _not_ about to scale the building to slip in through your bedroom window or something, got it?" Santana is past exasperated; it hasn't been a full day since they started getting to be friends. Quinn eyes her suspiciously. It should make her angry, but instead Santana has to stop herself from making some sort of comment about how being angry makes Quinn look like, ten times hotter.

"My bedroom is in the basement. You know that. Don't tell me you used to do that when you were seeing Brittany...," Quinn trails off. To Santana it sounds like the girl is threatening her. Not that she has anything to worry about because she certainly did _not_ do creeper shit like that. She's not Troy Bolton and this isn't a goddamn high school musical.

"No, I didn't. I walked through the main doors like a fucking normal person," Santana snaps. Quinn seems to relax a little bit but now Santana is curious. "So do you have some sort of squicky crush on Britt or something?"

Quinn stares at her incredulously and soon it's become such a dragged out action that Santana thinks people are starting to notice. Shit's turning into a real fucking mess as more and more people point out how their head Cheerio seems to be getting verbally bitch slapped –not that this shit is any of their fucking business— until finally Santana just gives up and tugs Quinn down onto the opposing bench. Quinn pats down her skirt twice before crossing her ankles (not that Santana is peeking under the table or anything) and glaring at Santana like as if _she _was the one who had barged in on Quinn peacefully eating lunch. This damn girl. Quinn fixes Santana with a harsh look and says, "I have no idea what the word 'squicky' means, as I quite prefer to use real English." Quinn's stupid smug little grin really pisses Santana off.

"Squicky. Disgusting, creating a feeling of repulsion, et cetera," The Latina can feel her teeth gnashing together.

"I figured as much," Quinn says, "and to answer your question, no. I'm not so immoral that I would have feelings for a fellow girl, least of all my cousin."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Quinn eyes her again and it makes Santana so fucking uncomfortable to be the one being appraised like some sort of rat for whom the exterminator feels sorry. Normally _she's_ the one giving that look out, and in this situation it should be the blonde across from her being studied with so much dislike, not her.. "I didn't mean it that way, Santana," Quinn says carefully. The Latina is surprised with how delicate her name sounds coming from Quinn's bitchy mouth. "My parents… are not the most accepting folk, it's true. I swear though, I didn't mean it to sound like that. I have nothing against homosexuals."

"So why did you slap me when you found out that I'm Britt's ex? That wasn't a 'oh, you filthy fucking dyke!' slap?" Santana doesn't know why she's pushing this, because Quinn does seem to be sincere, but she just has a feeling like the blonde isn't being one hundred percent honest. "Just because you're more respectful about it doesn't make it clear to me that you're not a bigot like your parents. You must hate this school, all the non-hetero kids running around. You must want to die every time you talke to me, Kurt, Blaine, Britt, Marley...!"Santana blanches because _fuck_. She's not supposed to say anything about Marley's sexuality. Casting a quick glance to the cafeteria line-up, she breathes a sigh of relief when it appears obvious that she and Quinn aren't being loud enough that they can actually be heard. Marley's mom catches her eye and even smiles at her, so she mustn't have heard that her daughter is a lesbian. That's great, because Santana would have suffered a slow death drowning in Marley's broken-trust-tears otherwise. She breathes a sigh of relief and turns to face Quinn, who for her part appears more contemplative than stunned.

"Marley's gay?" Quinn doesn't seem angry or anything, which is confusing for Santana, really. "Hmm…well, I guess it kind of makes sense. I had my suspicions but in any case I never—

"You _cannot,_ under any circumstances, repeat what I just said. If you do, I will _end_ you."

Quinn's eyebrows knit closer together as she frowns at Santana. "If you had let me finish just now you would understand why I would never do something that awful and invasive." She stares at Santana for a bit more, practically challenging the darker girl to say something. When nothing is said, Quinn sighs. "I'm…I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Spit it out," Santana sighs, though there's this weird twisty feeling in her stomach when she catches how upset Quinn looks right now. It's like her green eyes are trying to focus hard enough on the bland grey of the table that Quinn is hoping she'll eventually chameleon-morph into it.

"No." Quinn says, eyes still zeroed in on the table. "I just…I can't."

"Look Fabray, all I know is you had better keep my friend's secret. I can forgive a ton of things, like you being kind of a bitch and acting all hot-and-cold around me. I can even forgive you for slapping me in the face. You tell Marley's secret though, and slushie facials are just the beginning of what I'm gonna do to you."

"I won't tell her secret, and I already apologized for slapping you!" The whisper is fierce but Quinn's expression betrays her; she still looks terrified.

"Yeah, I know…you never told me why though, and don't think I've let that go."

Quinn sighs and looks at Santana now, like she sees no other way around this other than to finally give the Latina the answer she has been searching for. "I slapped you because, in a stupid way, I've always blamed you for my parents throwing me out…" She sounds appropriately ashamed, but Santana is past angry; she just _met_ the girl in September, how could she have possibly had anything to do with that?

"What? That's the most fucked up bullshit I've ever—

"Brittany talked about you all the time during her visits, and my parents didn't mind it because she's not their daughter anyway…I loved hearing about how much she loved you, and then I… well then I started having some stories of my own to tell her."

"I don't follow...," Santana says. Well actually, she kind of does, except if she's right than this whole situation just became a lot more fucked up. Maybe Quinn is into sweet-lady-kisses too.

"I'm gay," Quinn says, and she's so scared that Santana loses all the will to be angry. So she was right, and Quinn's gay, and obviously frightened half out of her wits. Sure, she'd been there when Kurt had said it out loud for the first time, as she had been when Marley started feeling confident enough to tell people (just Kurt and Santana, really) the truth of her sexual identity. This is different though, because this is somebody she kind of wants to sleep wi—get to know better and this is clearly the first time that Quinn has ever said, whether to herself or to anybody else, that she's something other than absolutely straight. That, coupled with Quinn's parents being "not the most accepting folk", makes this moment entirely more troubling for Santana than she would like to admit. She still doesn't really see the connection between being slapped and Quinn's story, but that isn't really her concern right now. She can always ask about that later.

She reaches out for a slim, pale hand, not sure why she needs to, but she's Santana-fucking-Lopez and she can do shit like this and maybe her confidence and her self-acceptance will flow through her hands into Quinn. Or not. She's surprised when Quinn doesn't bat her hand away, though the blonde doesn't exactly seem to appreciate the contact; it's like she's scared herself so thoroughly with her own admission that she can't even be her usual stiffly polite self, don't-touch-me self.

The bell rings and it's time for English, but when Santana notices how there's water leaking from the corners of Quinn's eyes she makes a snap decision. Still holding the blonde's hand the HBIC of McKinley marches straight towards the doors and heads off in the direction of the parking lot, Quinn in tow. She doesn't know why, but she doesn't want anybody to see the blonde crying.

* * *

"Hey," Santana says as she returns to the corner booth of the Lima Bean. Quinn has calmed down a little since they arrived, enough that now her eyes are just a touch puffier than would be considered normal, and her breathing comes out in little sniffles every now and again. Noticing that the brunette has brought her a drink as well, Quinn reaches into a pocket of her bag, which Santana had run back for after starting the car and noticing that she'd left both of their stuff at the table. Santana raises a hand and shakes her head. No matter what the occasion, when she is the one who decides to bring a girl someplace and food or drink is involved, she's the one paying.

"Why are you doing this?" Quinn asks. Her voice is quiet and timid and decidedly unBitchfacelike.

"I don't know," Santana replies. She isn't sure at all, but maybe it has something to do with how terrified Quinn looked back in the cafeteria; it was like the blonde was afraid that the whole world would come crashing down on her. "Look…we got off on the wrong foot."

"Yeah," Quinn agrees. She stares at the lid of her cup, unsure if she should speak next. This quiet Quinn is so fucking unsettling. Santana is about to speak up again but Quinn beats her to it. "Do you think we could just start over? I mean, forget that all of…well, most of today ever happened?"

Santana nods. "Of course, Quinn." The blonde flashes her a shaky smile and then turns to making small talk about how she's never skipped school before as Santana inspects her face more closely. Obviously nobody is pretty when crying, or directly after crying, but the redness and the slight swelling of her face makes Quinn's features seem more real, like she's not the Ice Queen Barbie Santana had pegged her for since day one.

"Santana? Would it be okay if you came over again later today? We worked so well yesterday it would be a shame not to keep going," Quinn says. Santana nods again and smiles and passes Quinn a napkin so that she can gently dab the tear-tracks from her face.

"Yeah... uh, Quinn? I can use the main doors, right?"

* * *

**I always forget that these chapters are shorter than the ones for TSOAA so they take less time (but not less effort) to write. Anyway, hope you enjoyed that, now that Quinn is out (to Santana, at least) will this affect their dynamic at all? Probably.**

**Thank you for all of your reviews, follows, favourites, and mostly, thank you for your time! Lazers and Quinntana fans in general, y'all are some of my favourite people.**

**Check out my profile for fun things like my twitter (shout out to UpInTheNorth and Cassie C. for finding me on there) and for a blog that my friend writes. He's going to be covering the World Cup so if you're into that, check it out!**

**Ciao for now, Lazers!**

**~ Kay ~**


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